Chapter Text
The first second spent in freefall is the scariest. Your heart will seize as the support of the ground beneath you vanishes; in this moment, it will be impossible to stay silent. A horrified yell will tear itself from the depths of your throat as you're dropped from the only home you've ever known.
The next moment isn't much better. The air around you will shriek, sharing your terror as you take your unwilling plunge. Cold, sharp wind will prickle your soft, unworn skin, ripping at you with an unwieldy wrath you'd once believed you'd never be subject to. You could imagine that this is what it would feel like to be a pincushion: needles puncture your flesh with scalding chills, the indistinct voice of the sky shrilling in your ears, convincing you that you're deserving of this pain.
By the third second, you'll have punched through the cloud cover. If you thought the hurting you felt before now would be the worst of it, you're in for a rude awakening. One would think that falling through a cloud would be gentle. Welcoming even. On the contrary, it'll feel as though you've slammed headfirst into a wall. It does not catch you, nor slow your descent, instead drenching you and the rags on your back in a biting cold that robs the last of your voice from you. You'll squeeze your eyes shut to try and shield them from the sheer force of the hit, but the wind pries them open like it wants you to see. When the clouds finally break, you'll have a clear view of your inevitable destination: the dusty, cluttered, colorful ground below.
The fourth second. You should have realized by now that you're falling faster than you were just a few moments prior. If not, the force of the gale whipping your curly hair like it hopes to rip it straight from your scalp, growing harsher and harder with each strained breath you take, shall inform you. At this point, you'll have lost all feeling in your limbs, or at the very least your hands and feet. It takes a monumental amount of strength to move even an inch of your body; the heavens are stronger, and always have been. It hugs your chest, squeezing you taut and choking the air out of your lungs before you can draw a full breath. It robs you of all autonomy. Your breath is staggered, your body is useless. You can't tell if the tears festering in the corners of your wide-blown eyes are your own, or the moisture in the air compelling you to weep for it.
You can't tell how long you've been falling now. All you know is the distance between you and the ground is growing shorter, nearing faster; it won't be long before you meet it. You'd always wondered what the world below was like, but this wasn't exactly how you'd planned to see it. It's a hell of a view, though. Lively, lopsided towers spiral high into the air, stacked against one another in uncertain piles that teeter to one side or another. At their feet, collections of colors swarm like a mosaic. Even in the dead of night, you can see their vibrance shine through the light of the moon. Bold yellows and curdling reds jut out at you, followed by serene purples and blues that remind you of the star-speckled sky. Like day and night meeting on the horizon, the hues blend and swell with the unbroken spirit of people discarded by the heavens, people who built a home in the shadow of their goddess. People like you.
Their constructs extend into the sky, reaching out as though they intend to catch you before you crash somewhere into their sprawling city. It's now, as you can clearly make out the streets and alleys weaving community through the chaos, that you find the strength to turn your head.
Off to your right, past your nest of curly locs and the generous curve of your veridian horns, there's someone else—another person who, all this time, has been falling right alongside you. In the terror that consumed you the instant you began to plummet, you'd forgotten the reason you were falling in the first place.
It was for them. Him. The red-horned inphernal hurtling to the ground at your side. Unlike you, blinking, crying, fearing, he was still. Despite the wind tearing at his skin and tangling his tousled hair, he was as stiff as a statue, plunging downward headfirst with his face to the sky. You'd think him dead.
But you can't accept that. Not yet, and not now. You'd known him since the day you first spawned; attached at the hip. You did not know life without him, and even though yours would be ending soon enough, you refused to feel that anguish in your final moments. Despite the pain, and the cold, and the will of your goddess pinning your arms and legs backward, you find your strength. Buried in you, at your very core, where you're still warm and willing to give all you have left for the inphernal you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
You defy the sky. You flail, your movements clumsy and useless, yet undeniably determined. You wave your arms through the air in a pathetic attempt at pulling yourself toward him; you don't stop. The wind is so loud, you can't hear your own thoughts or the painful pounds of your throbbing heart. Now the only distance you care about closing is the distance between you and your best friend.
You close it. You reach for him like it'll save him. Your arms stretch, frozen fingers flexing with what remains of their vigor before latching onto him. You take his hands into your own and interlace your fingers. He's so cold, he's warm, and all at once, your impending doom feels far, far smaller. You stare at his scuffed, bruise-laden face, the purple blossoming across his chin and his cheeks from where he'd been beaten before he was discarded like trash.
But he is far, far more to you. You don't see the blemishes or blood, nor the fresh crook in his nose. You see the subtle crease of his cheeks, where his dimples would show when he smiled, where his lips stretched whenever he shot you a confident, happy grin. You see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. You see the flutter of his lashes, the notch in his left eyebrow. The straight, neat curve of his ruby red horns, small and discreet, and such a wonderful contrast to who you knew he was.
You were satisfied with this. You knew you'd die gratified, having spent your last moments committing every feature and detail of him to memory. You decided the last thing you'd ever think of was him.
Then his eyes open, and he meets yours. He stares into your soul with a softness so sweet and scared, it makes your aching heart burn with a pain far kinder. His green irises reflect the city's lights beneath you, glowing with an ombre of cozy golds and ochers. His lips twitch. He says something. You wish you could hear it.
With your remaining will, you embrace him. He's crying, and so are you. His lean arms find your sides, and he latches onto you, his dull nails digging into your back in search of any amount of comfort. You provide, you encompass as much of his body as you can with your own, and turn your back to the oncoming ground. One arm is wrapped snug around his waist, squeezing and cradling him like the wind might try to take him from you again. Your other hand tangles with his hair. You let him bury his face into your neck so he doesn't have to watch.
You murmur, "I love you," and you hope he hears it.
You close your eyes. You hit the ground.
One watches two angels fall from heaven.